


Raw Meat

by Quarkitty



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Blood Drinking, Blood and Gore, Episode: s01e02 Guts, Guro, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Necrophilia, Ramsay is his own warning, Snuff, Torture, animal death mention, raw meat, split time au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-17
Updated: 2015-06-17
Packaged: 2018-04-04 19:11:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4149570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quarkitty/pseuds/Quarkitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ramsay is impulsive, and his bloodlust does not stop at killing livestock and prisoners anymore. His beloved Reek's organs would be so pretty so spill, wouldn't they? A one shot guro snuff fic for those who want their hands elbow deep in a pretty boy's guts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Raw Meat

Sometimes he could tell immediately when someone’s organs would be beautiful. Ramsay Bolton had a knack of predicting when someone would be cold and grey on the inside, and when they would really _pulse_ , when their guts would be colorful and slick.

The turncloak Theon Greyjoy practically smelled of guts. Ramsay grabbed him by his brittle hair and ran his nose across his neck. The boy had lost so much weight that his veins bulged, starving for water and dangerously dehydrated. A low carb diet had turned his sweat to a salty smell, not dissimilar to gas lamps or rotting venison. He darted his tongue out and took a taste, right behind his ear.

“Reek, you are vile today,” he moaned. “You smell ripe.”

Theon’s eyes widened, his lip twitched.

“M’lord, I thought it pleased you.”

Ramsay smiled—his teeth were slightly crooked and much too large for his mouth. As a child he was teased for them, but it only made tearing through raw meat easier. _Those Starks don’t deserve their carnivore sigil,_ Ramsay laughed to himself, doubting that the Stark children were as ravenous as he was about uncooked meat. He ate everything as uncooked and close to death as he could—cold liver, still bloody kidneys, organ meats and muscle alike. Yet, the meat was never fresh enough for him, he wanted to feel a heart still beat in his mouth.

“Oh it does,” he took another lick. “I like you like this. Perfumed Lords just cover up their stench, they’re no less disgusting on the inside. You rip a clean man open and there’s still shit inside.” Ramsay loved few things, but he did love his time alone with his Reek at the Dreadfort. There wasn’t as much time as he liked that he wasn’t badgered by his Lord father or his duties as a newly legitimized Bolton. It was stressful, and he longed for the days when he would sneak around the North as a child, stealing chickens and plucking their feathers off like flower petals. Winter was coming (how he hated to even think the Stark house words), and those times of frivolous waste and youth were behind him. Now a man grown, he had bigger things to attend to: men instead of chickens. Flesh instead of feathers. “You are honest Reek. Stupid, yet honest. There’s no hiding.”

Ramsay usually kept Reek in chains, heavy enough on his frail sick body that he was weighted down. He moved slower that way, out of breath and often grunting under the struggle. Such a pallid little thing, all scar tissue and bone. The Dreadfort dungeons never saw light, and Reek had lost his warm shimmer. He was no longer the man who wanted glory and Winterfell, the sea on his throat and back.

“Reek, sometimes I’m impulsive,” he crooned, quiet in Reek’s cell. The air was so rancid and smelled of dried blood and piss, but Ramsay didn’t even crinkle his nose. He grew up around cow shit and the stink of peasant life. Nobles knew nothing, he thought, they just want to pretend humans don’t excrete or stink if you leave them dry for a while. But all things can become filthy and putrid if you let them simmer for long enough. “Sometimes I look at you and I want to pry you open like a casket of wine. How much would spill out?”

Jolting, Reek stared at the emptiness behind Ramsay’s ears.  The boy wanted nothing more than death, it was not a threat but a relief to hear. _Tread carefully Reek,_ Ramsay thought, watching his mind whirl with the best way to beg for absolution.

“…M’lord, I’ve been so good to you, haven’t I?”

“Don’t get romantic on me. I’ve fucked your holes and filled them with my seed, but you aren’t going to birth me any children. I talk to you more than any whores I fuck but that’s because you’re a good listener, not because I value your opinion.” He scoffed and clucked his tongue. “Seeking validation is such an ugly thing. Hadn’t you learned a damn thing?”

Reek nodded and straightened his shoulders. “Of course, m’lord. I’m stupid, I only know what you tell me. It’s natural I would seek your validation. You are so much smarter than me.”

He knew the twisted thing was a liar and a coward. Any sweet words or compliments were just to keep what was left of his skin. Ramsay wasn’t an idiot, but it did give him a rise to hear someone grovel at his feet, no matter how forced the sentiment.

“You seek death, you don’t want to be mine anymore. I can see it in your eyes. You think that doesn’t hurt me, Reek? That you’d rather die than be with me anymore?” Ramsay rolled his eyes dramatically. “That’s not treating me well.”

“M’lord, that’s not true, I only want to please you.”

“Shut up, I’m tired. I said I was impulsive. Sometimes I have to--,” he struggled to find the right word. Feed? Hurt? Rip something alive apart until it stopped twitching his hands? “Sometimes my hands shake and they don’t stop until something is in pain.”

“That sounds terrible m’lord.”

“Don’t patronize me.” Ramsay drew his hand back and cracked it hard against Reek’s cheek. “I don’t need your sympathy. Ah, see. If I was having a good day, that would have done the trick and stopped the gnawing little maggots that bite me. But no, it’s still there. My Lord father says my blood is filthy. What about yours Reek? Is your blood clean?”

Reek stammered, holding his cheek with his pathetic hand. “Forgive me, I did not mean to be patronizing. I meant it well and true.”

“I’m going to kill you my sweet Reek. I’ve had my fun but what’s the saying? All good things must end.” Ramsay held a finger up to Reek. “Don’t move.” He exited the cell and grabbed his favorite knife—a red handled short dagger. There was not a lot of strength behind it, but it was delicate and quiet. His father oft criticized him for being too hack and slash, too fast and brutish with large weapons and too much bravado. He had been practicing at nights with smaller, sultrier blades, peeling away skins of prisoners and learning how to be more subdued. It never quite worked, by the end he would kick the prisoners in the skull with his boots, just wanting to see more blood and cause pain quicker. Always so impulsive, Ramsay walked back to his Reek, who was now just a wet lump on the floor.

“Growing up, my mother had me kill some of the livestock. Did you ever have to do this Reek? Or were you too pampered and you had someone lesser than you do it? I bet when you ate one of my Lord father’s rats you didn’t even know meat was full of bones, you’ve had things skinned and cleaned and cooked for you since birth.” He loved when Reek would just shut up and cry. His own voice sounded so much better with the background of weak sobs. “Anyhow. My mother taught me first on geese. Less tasty than chicken, so when I messed up and didn’t do it right, we could just toss it into a stew and it came out alright. Geese are filthy animals, I’m sure you know that much. You’re stupid, but I’m cutting you some slack here. Sit up, Reek. I don’t want to talk to your back.”

Reek straightened up, not bothering to wipe the dirt from his face that gathered from the floor. His eyes were red around the corners, the whites of them had a yellow tinge from malnourishment and sickness. Whatever women fucked Reek before would be repulsed now. Ramsay briefly enjoyed the thought of their screams from seeing him. How fun it would be to force Reek upon them while they squirmed to get away from his hideousness. Maybe the next Reek—there would always be more. Perhaps none as pretty as this one, none as lovely to fill and fuck, but there would always be another.

“Where was I? The goose! Yes, the geese. Anyhow. Their necks are so long, it’s so easy for them to choke. Stupid things, if they sleep the wrong way they can crush their own windpipes. Whoever designed the goose needs to go back to the map, be it the Father or the Crone or the fucking Whore for all I know. So the best way to kill them is by snapping their necks, like this,” he snapped his fingers and grinned. “They die pretty quick if you do that. Now, Reek, let’s see if you can figure this out. You know me by now. You’ve had my cock in your mouth, that’s pretty much knowing someone, no? Do you think I enjoyed snapping their necks?”

Theon swallowed, his throat dry. “No. No, m’lord, I don’t think you enjoyed it.”

“Oh? And why not?”

“They die quickest that way. It’s more…it’s more fun to make it last.” Reek smiled a bit when he finished, or perhaps it was a grimace of all his nights prior. Either way, the facial change swelled up Ramsay’s cock with blood.

“Ladies and Lords, he’s figured it out!” Ramsay applauded to the empty cell. “That’s a good creature! Yes, little Ramsay did not snap those delicate necks. No he did not. I would slam them on the ground, whack them against trees, kick them and punch them, slowly peel off their skin, cut off their beaks. Hilarious, a goose without a beak!”

Reek smiled, showing off his broken black teeth. “Beak, beak. It rhymes with Reek, m’lord.”

Ramsay laughed out loud, whole heartily and true. “Reek. I will miss you. You’re a dumb thing but you amuse me sometimes. You make me laugh more than other prisoners here, at least. It will be hard to find someone half as good as you. So that’s why we have to make this last moment last. So romantic,” he winked and licked his teeth. “On with it then.”

He was on Reek before he could even flinch. Ramsay unsheathed his red handled blade and grabbed his prisoner by the waist.  In any other moment, in any other world, between any other men, the touch would be delicate and romantic. His hand dwelled above Reek’s hipbone, caressing the rough skin. Ramsay briefly closed his eyes and lingered on the feeling of warm flesh. Inside was what he wanted, all those juicy guts that made a body warm. It wasn’t life or a soul that kept a person hot and red, it was the blood and shit inside them, all the waste and liquid.

“I loved you Reek,” Ramsay whispered in his ear. “As much as I could ever love anything.”

For a split second, Reek smiled again, unsure of what his mouth was doing or why he let out a small laugh, hollow and hurt yet true. It lasted only for a brief second, but Ramsay heard it and his stomach lurched. He had never felt the emotion before, and quickly tried to shove it away before he could examine whether it was regret or loss or longing.

“I love m’lord Ramsay Bolton,” Reek’s voice was steady and though the boy was slated to die, Ramsay believed him. He was liar, true, but there was no half-truth or groveling to be heard. Ramsay nodded, wanting them to be the last words he ever heard from his pet. It had to be now, he had to immortalize them on his tongue. The feeling swelled again and Ramsay hated himself. It reminded him of too much, of another time, of the smell of wheat in his nose or a dog’s fur between his fingers. Regret or loss or longing or love, Ramsay plunged the knife into Reek’s abdomen slowly.

Reek did not scream as much as Ramsay had expected, he grit his teeth and bellowed and moaned and howled, but it was low and between the two of them. He was not screaming for someone to hear or for someone to help, his shouts were subdued as if he only wanted the two of them to appreciate it.

“Don’t be so romantic, Reek,” Ramsay whispered, pulling the blade across the skin. “You’re screaming like a maid in heat.” He bent his head down to Reek’s open wound and took what he came there for. His blood tasted like steel and victory, hot and steaming. He lapped it up until his stomach lurched.

Reek was still alive, his eyes rolled back yet he was half between passed out and conscious. Death was often difficult to tell from the facial expressions of a good orgasm, Ramsay noted. He reached his hand to the wound and pressed his fingers against the opening. Trailing his thumb and forefinger across the gash, he entered a finger into Reek’s warm body cavity. He pushed, splitting through the gushing blood and dug in another finger. Tossing aside the knife, Ramsay pushed back his sleeves.

He forced the rest of his fist into Reek and felt through the body, feeling the steady swell of organs and blood and veins. His cock grew hard when his hands grabbed Reek’s intestine. He gave it a tug and pulled it free from the body. It shimmered and shone—a lovely color purple, stings of black and red all over it. He hungered, the desire for raw meat filled his body.

“My sweet Reek,” he hummed, lifting the organ to his mouth. He bit right through it, chewing and chewing, the texture was tough and like old leather. It did not taste particularly good at all. If served it as a meal, he would undoubtedly spit it out and have the cook hanged. Yet, it was part of his Reek, and thus he longed to have it inside of him, mixing with his insides. Synthesis, like a potion or a magic spell, he felt right as Reek’s organs pulsated down his throat.

“I did love you,” he whispered to the dying body, untying his breeches, freeing his pounding cock. “There are few things I loved. You were one of them,” he propped Reek’s body up against the wall and slid his cock into the gaping wound. He was not sure when Reek died, whether it as his cock pushed further into him, or when his organs were in his hands. He did not check for breathing or pulses or when his body stopped twitching or flailing, or when he began to stiffen. Ramsay pumped his hips deep into Reek, until his bones touched his cock, briefly uncomfortable against the rawness of his pre-cum slathered tip. “My sweetling, my sweetling,” Ramsay moaned. He nearly felt like a woman this way, so warm and slick.

Ramsay came and watched his semen drip white across the reds and purples of Reek’s canvas. He lifted a hand to Reek’s face. He died with no expression on his face, just a slack jaw and glazed stare of death. Trembling from his orgasm, Ramsay stuck a finger into Reek’s death mouth and lifted it into a smile.

Ramsay was always so impulsive.

Ramsay was always so full of regret.


End file.
